He will be dependent on you. It isn’t law, nor custom, nor masculine violence settled that. Until two hours ago she was as contented and as happy as a linnet. I don’t suggest any philanthropy. She recalled how she had stretched out her arms toward the magic blue horizon. How long wilt thou forget me, O Lord? for ever? How long wilt thou hide thy face from me? She came upon the Song of Songs—which had been pasted down in the Enschede Bible—the burning litany of love; and from time to time she intoned some verse of tender lyric beauty.
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